


A Friendly Reminder

by PrimarchOmegon



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Brainghost Ferrus is a dick, Depressing, Drama, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 00:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimarchOmegon/pseuds/PrimarchOmegon
Summary: Even after dying, he's still going to be there. He always was there. And he'll never let him forget about it.Fulgrim trying to cope with Ferrus' death did not go as well as he had planned.





	A Friendly Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for a writing contest with the theme "Fall from Grace" on a Discord server

_He could still see him._  
Time was passing although the shadows never moved, his hearts beat inside his chest and  
_he could still see him._  
His eyes didn’t lose track of his brother, not for once. They kept track of him, pacing through the dimly lit room and all that mattered was that  
_he could still see him._  
“How many times have we had this discussion?”, the other asked, not even turning around to face him. He couldn’t tell. Days, weeks, months, they all blended into each other more or less.  
He felt himself carding through his own hair, it had become a habit by now, something he couldn’t stop while  
_he could still see him._

 __  
“I see you’ve been doing well.” He hadn’t ever responded the first few times, thinking that his hearts might not be able to bear that. It had worn him down over time. It had worn him down to his bones and there was nothing he could do except letting it play out. And perhaps, it would feel better if he’d just…  
“I cannot thank father enough for what he has given me. All of us.”, he answered, although his voice was raspy and choked.  
“Yet here you are, still finding time for all of this… art. You could’ve occupied yourself with a million things that are more practical.”  
“You could’ve occupied yourself with a million things that are more aesthetic.” He remembered this exchange, not because of the topic rather than the nature of it. A brotherly banter that they had played through seemingly hundreds of times before, yet none of them was willing to let go or admit defeat. He had loved this. He had missed this.  
_He could still see him._  
“I was never opposed to learning; however, this is not exactly something I’d call educational.”, his brother continued, still contemplating the painting he stood in front of.  
“I miss you.”  
“Nor would I deem it useful. What good is something that just looks nice, if it doesn’t have a practical use?”  
“There are so many things that have been left unsaid…”  
“Again, in terms of usefulness, your argument would not make sense.” At this point, the play stagnated. He didn’t answer correctly any longer and the illusion of a dialogue flickered, then faded. It always was like that, at some point he would feel tears welling up in his eyes, but the longer he held them back, the longer he answered… The longer he could pretend that this wasn’t a lonely memory of better days. At first he had been thankful for them, then angry because of their mocking implications, their taunting for him to play his role in order to not lose his mind. And now, they had become his torment. His eternal followers, wherever he went.  
“You can’t stay here…”  
“I agree that these differences are not a bad thing. Only a fool would think that. Though, do you know what the biggest difference between us is? It’s that I occupy myself with things that have a second or even third use besides their original intent, where as you occupied yourself with _killing me._ ” All blood was drained from his face, all warmth and comfort had left his body. This had never happened before. Their play had never changed, never deviated even the slightest bit from this monologue, even though the memories were different every time.

  
“You say that now, but think about where we’re heading, brother. Think about when _you’ll rip my head off of my shoulders._ ” Something dripped on his carpet, staining it dark red while the other finally turned around. These steeled eyes, he had missed those eyes so much. The look they gave him was brotherly, so was the slight smile on colourless lips.  
“Leave me, leave me and let me forget about you!”  
“Do you _really_ _think_ _you don’t deserve this_? If you ever find yourself _finally slitting my throat open_ , then what will you do? Practicality will prevail where art is just something nice to look at!” His eyes darted across the room, trying to focus on anything but the disfigured shape before him, but  
_he could still see him._  
He could still see this mockingly friendly smile out of the corner of his eyes and how thick, old blood quietly oozed out of a slashed throat. It didn’t make a sound, not even when it hit the ground.  
“I’m not even sure what this is supposed to be, so why would you _not look at me, brother_? Am I wrong or _are you_ _ashamed to look at what you’ve done and face the consequences?_ ”  
“You’re not real!” He chewed on his bottom lip, angrily. _Desperately_.  
Why did this haunt him, why was this still happening? Why did it have to be this, of all things? Why was it that of all people,  
_he could still see him._  
“You should know by now that I _will never leave you._ You’re _not deserving of rest, of sleep or a moment to breathe_. Simply because _I no longer breathe, nor do I rest. And that is your fault._ ”  
“I don’t need to hear this-”  
“My _soul is torn into pieces every day, the abhorrent spawns beyond our reality feed on it and yet it never fully disappears._ Is this what you intended to _condemn me to_? I didn’t know you _hated me this much, brother._ If you would-”  
“Enough!” The corpse that had once been his brother still smiled at him when he dared to face it again. The blood had dried up and crusted the even wider slashing of his throat, showing some exposed neck bones entombed in dead, pale flesh.  
“ _You left me to rot, brother._ ”, it said, vaguely gesturing towards him with a silvery hand that was missing several fingers.

  
“ _You left me to rot, my body to be taken apart by cultists. You know what they did. Some of them were yours._ ”  
“I never wanted it to-”  
“ _Murder me? Behead me, gouge out my eyes and throw me into Horus’ lap like a used toy you got bored of? You never wanted it to be like this, yet you let it happen._ And I will never let you forget that, Fulgrim.” He didn’t want to take his head out of his hands, he didn’t want to look again to confirm that the thing was gone.  
Ever since the events of Istvaan, Ferrus Manus had not left him alone. He didn’t know why or if he was losing his mind, but fact still remained fact. And by his promise, his brother had come back so many times to torment him with his own memories. After every one-sided dialogue, every disappearance to leave him in his room, feeling cold and alone…  
After every time that he had asked himself if he truly deserved this, every time he had tried to numb these sensations, the crushing pressure of guilt…  
_He could still see him._  
And he would continue to see him until the very end.  
  
  
  



End file.
